Insanity or Reality
by ItsNothingToDoWithYou
Summary: Ariana Blackwood is a little insane. Or is she? Besides, she's changed. Or, she's likes to think so. Everyone has to have hope, right? A little snippet of Ariana's life in Ilvermorny School or Witchcraft and Wizardry


**My story for the Tri-Writing Tournament thing at** **Ilvermorny School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry forum using one of my OCs.**

 **Character: Ariana Blackwood, 6** **th** **Year, Wampus**

 **Insanity or Reality**

 _The reality of life is that it does not existence. Everyone is simply temporary. The years we spend trying to figure out who we are doesn't matter, because in the end, it simply fades in darkness. It never happened._

The fly flittered around my head. In my head? Perhaps it had always been there, it was difficult to tell. The ground was soggy, had it rained, or had I sat there long enough it'd gotten damp. I couldn't tell. This wasn't the problem though. What was the problem?

Everything seemed to be going slowly. The way the trees swayed, the chatter of those around me. Nothing worked. It never did.

This wasn't exactly a normal day. It was one I knew I'd never forget. One of my worst.

It was a Tuesday, a summers day, a happy day. Well almost. I hadn't been enrolled in this school for that long.

 _Don't leave anything out little lady….Dont butter it up._

I shook my head. This was my story. Not the voices' which constantly badger me in the night. And in the day. Basically forever. Am I ever so slightly insane? No. I know who I am. I'm Ariana Blackwood, but that doesn't mean I don't have a few hitches in my program.

It was a Tuesday, a summers day, an **un-happy** day. My Birthday. My father had said he would come to visit. I knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. He wouldn't. A present? Presents weren't the pretty fluffy unicorns a girl would want. No, presents didn't come in that form. They came in the form of things to protect myself. Really motivational. But I didn't need his help. I have myself, and my voices. The father isn't round much now.

Does it matter? Not really. Does it matter? Yes really.

The Birthday was a cold feeling. Knowing how I was born. My mother. The fear. The pain. Can I remember it? Not really. The story though I recited in my mind. Not that I share that. Not even with you.

I spent that day reminding myself of my first name, not my last. I walked along the paths of the school, following them religiously. Why? Call it boredom, call it a cry for sanity, call it what you will. I call it amusement. That's when someone had amusement of their own. She muttered things. I heard it. I know I heard her. The little tittle tattle. And I didn't stand for that. I'm a Blackwood. No, wait, I'm Ariana.

 _You're a Blackwood and that's it….. Poor little darling thinking otherwise…._

No…. Back to the story…

I snapped, I know I did. Who wouldn't? Ok, most wouldn't, but that fly…..around my head…. in my head…. it pushed me. Was it the fly or the voices? I don't remember much between now and then. Between when I heard their snide little comments about me, and when I had the girl shoved against the wall, blood flowing from her nose and the rest of her body. So many cuts... She was crying, her blood and tears mixing and falling on my robes. My nice clean robes. Now dirty robes. I didn't like dirt. I don't know how it ended. I don't know what exactly she said. But it was then that I reminded myself of who I was. Of who I am. I could be like this…. But….. I wasn't crazy. My voices said otherwise.

I came away from there with little more than a scratch. And scratches didn't bite. Some people didn't like me. Evidently. But some people got high on it. On me.

On the way back from the 'small incident' I met with a boy. Who? I don't know his name. It never mattered. We made out, perhaps I tasted some blood on his lips, perhaps I simply was remembering the blood of the girl. I left. I slept.

As I laid there in bed, the voices were screaming louder than ever. They always did at night. Shouldn't they be sleeping like me? It was difficult to know, they never made too much sense. I didn't let them. Got to keep them imprisoned in there. From then I knew I couldn't let myself be that person. I couldn't be the person people were expecting me to be. I grew. Grew up? Grew down? I simply grew. I allowed myself to come across easier. Perhaps more social. Perhaps not. If I wanted to survive, I had to be a survivor. I had to adapted. From then, I changed. Hopefully.

How did It turn out? I'll let you know.


End file.
